Bert and Ernie Try Rap

Bert and Ernie, to M.O.P.’s Ante Up.  I love it.

The Cupid Chronicles V: A Boy

A boy.

A boy?

Yes. A little boy. A little boy, in the bushes. A little boy with a big, red ‘fro. Standing in the bushes.

Where the F are his parents?

I look back incredulously at Brooklahoma. I’m communicating with my eyes, with a look that says- “Brooklahoma, what about the boy over there?”

And Brook finally sees I’m serious- which means we’ve got a surefire weirded-out reaction coming my way in 3, 2, 1…….

I look back towards the bushes. I look at Brook.

Yep. There it is. An unmistakable “WTF?!” expression on Brook’s face.

Is it this angle? No, the kid is right there. It’s not the angle. How could Brook not see?

“He wouldn’t be the first one to not see what’s right in front of him”.

Alright. WHO the F was that.

Oh. Right. That would be SynergyPanicButtonIDidn’tKnowIHad, once again freely giving a little unsolicited advice.

Still the fact is, I don’t know why no one back here but me can see this child but that doesn’t matter ’cause I am not just seeing things, that child is there.

Then it hits me.

Oh. My. God.

I think I know exactly who that boy is.

Which explains why only I can see him. Because I’ve been looking for him. You know how often something can be right in front of your face, but because it’s not what you’re focused on, you don’t actually see it? Like that.

I mean, this is still a bit more obvious- a little kid in the bushes not even 30 feet away for Chrissake- but still….this has to be why.

I almost gasp audibly upon the revelation, and then stop myself. Calm Down! I don’t want him to catch me watching. There he is, the little imp responsible for all the trouble, all the hard luck, all the worrying and anxiety and I’ll be damned if I let him get away without squeezing in a little detective work…

Slowly, discreetly, I pull out the binoculars I had brought to Butterfly from my bag. I do faintly hear a male voice- probably Brook’s- quietly say “Hey over there, are you OK?” I don’t answer Mr. So-Two-Minutes-Ago. I have a one-track mind right now. I am on a mission.

Binoculars to eyes. Closer look. So.

Not exactly what I expected. He’s not a toddler after all. He looks to be about 7 years old. Wiry, with rather pale, freckly skin- not rosy-cheeked and pudgy at all. His unruly carrot-colored hair fluffs out in several directions. It has a leaf stuck in it. He isn’t wearing a diaper. He has clothes on. Shorts and a t-shirt with the Joker on the front. Also he has a BlackBerry. It’s glowing slightly. I don’t mean the screen, I mean the whole damn thing.

He’s texting furiously, and doesn’t notice me. His brow is furrowed and his jaw is a bit slackened, revealing rather large, rabbity front teeth as he stares intently at the little BlackBerry. His fingers are flying to where they just sort of appear a blur to my eyes. I’ve never seen anyone text that fast, even the 13-year-old girl who won that LG contest or whatever. Then again, I thought, that makes total sense. I mean, he’s not human so- well, of course-

I see some movement going on behind him. That’s sort of hitting the bushes and making them flutter. White- feathers? He has a bird?

Flap. Flap. Flaplflapflap.

No. Not a bird.

The little twerp- has wings.

He has wings.

OMFG HE HAS WINGS!!!!!! HOLY HELL!!!!!!!!!

!!!!!!!!!!

!!!!!!!!!

Oh shut up. You’d do it too if you saw an f’ing person with wings. Except, I’m facing the undeniable truth that this is not a person, all the more justifying my silent freakout. And there is no longer any doubt in my mind as to who I’m looking at…